The flat pint of Stairway To Heaven guest ale I had in Wetherspoons turned out to be more like Hairway To Steven by the next morning as I guffed my way through the day with rumbling tums and the shakes. You shouldn’t drink something that looks like it was taken out of an infected bladder, but the bar was busy, the staff understress and undermanned and underpaid, so I winced my way through half of it and popped across the road to The Harp. Not exactly the hub of the Bangor music scene, but not a bad little pub.